


Castiel

by taramacIay



Series: Deanna, Cas and Castiel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Past Relationship(s), fem! dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taramacIay/pseuds/taramacIay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna hasn't seen Cas in more than a decade, until one September he decides to return to meet his son.</p><p>WARNING - FEMALE!DEAN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I will warn that Dean is female in this one. He was born one and that's that.
> 
> In this 'verse, Deanna was born in '83 and Sam, two years later.

Deanna Winchester was coping remarkably well, for a part-time hunter and full-time single mother. Emphasis on the _single_ part.

Raising a child to _the business_ was the last thing she wanted to do – just like her mother before her – so, naturally, it had to happen. Between the odd job and the very flexible hours babysitters had, she had managed to raise her son to a halfway normal life for three years.

For three whole years she scraped by, forgoing food to pay for her son and the apartment and the babysitters – much like she had with Sammy when they had been kids themselves – before she decided she couldn’t live like that anymore.

It pained her to do it, her soul ached when she thought of the _normal, safe_ life her son could be leading right now – but they had no other option. It was the Campbell [Winchester, now] family curse, and it wouldn’t miraculously skip a generation.

For almost decade after that they lived like she had all her life – eating diner food and sleeping in motels. She tried to choose better motels – or hotels, if the price was low enough – for her son’s sake, but hunting didn’t pay too well at all.

But as her son got closer and closer to high school, she did her best to settle down for longer periods of time – instead of weeks, months – and she tried getting any unwanted jobs to occupy her days when she wasn’t hunting. Her son grew and grew, both intellectually and physically, and every day he reminded her so much of Sammy that she had to stop herself from crying too often.

Not that he looked exactly like her brother – not at all. Her son had her lips and most of her facial features, but with his father’s eyes and nose. His hair, too, was like his father’s but coloured like his mother’s. All in all, he looked like the son of his parents, and she couldn’t be more proud of him if she tried.

When he turned thirteen she introduced him to the hunting world properly. Whilst she had taught him how to fight and use a knife and a handheld – as a precaution, she’d assured him – this was more of a _‘surprise, demons and vampires and ghosts exist and I kill ‘em_ ’ sort of thing.

To give him credit, he took it very well.

And then the questions returned immediately after. Had his father died in a hunting accident? Was it vampires? A crossroads deal? [She wasn’t going to lie; that last one brought up unpleasant memories.] As always, she kept mute on the subject, revealing nothing more than she had previously. This of course meant he knew _nothing_ about his father, and she wished to keep it that way.

But she was content – happy, perhaps, but not fully – with her life, and she adored her son, so the next September 18th, safe to say, shook her world.

It was her day. The one day she allowed herself to think about _him_ [not that she didn’t other days] but this day was more of an anniversary for her and him. It was a special day, and every year she drove to the closest church and sat outside for an hour.

She recalled every memory with him that she could, and it was almost as if he were there with her, just standing unnaturally close like he did.

That particular day, it felt different. Whilst it had always felt like a breeze before, this time it felt like a real, solid presence. And as it – he – spoke, she realised it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

“Deanna.”

Years it had been since she had last heard his voice, and it hadn’t changed a bit. Just as deep, just as gravelly, but perhaps with more emotion in it. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, glad her son wasn’t volunteering at the church that day – if he saw a man who looked very much like him, it would alarm him.

“Castiel.” There, she said it. It came out as a breath; soft and tentative, slightly relieved too. She felt a hand on her shoulder and resisted the urge to hold it with her own hand. “Why are you here?”

She finally turned to look at the man she had loved and still loved. He didn’t seem to have aged a day, yet he also seemed decades older somehow. His eyes were still impossibly dark, yet bright and his hair was as untamed as ever.

Next to him – a man in his mid thirties by physical appearance – she must look older than her forty years. Her hair was still the same brown it had been in her twenties, and her eyes were the same green – perhaps duller, but the same colour. She was the same height, and she had lost weight in the past decade and more.

“Your- _our_ son.”

She was ready with a retort along the lines of _you didn’t raise him so he is not your son_ , before a familiar beep alerted her to the presence of her son. He was not in earshot, and she was glad for that, so she turned her back to Castiel to talk to her son.

“Mom!” He shut the car door and locked it as he approached the pair, “Mom, some guy came by and left a message. Said it was important, about...” He trailed off as he got a good look at the man, and he frowned. “Who is he?”

Castiel scrutinised his son – only thirteen yet already knowing about the supernatural – and realised he never knew his name.

Deanna, who had stood by as the two looked – _really looked_ – at each other, sighed and stepped forward to introduce one another.

“Son,” she paused, “this is your dad.” She didn’t want to look at her son’s face so she looked at Castiel’s instead, seeing the head tilt that was all too familiar.

Pointing to Castiel, she said, “Cas,” she then gestured towards her son and said the last words, “this is your son, Castiel.”

 


End file.
